


fast burn

by t5391



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 04:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19201603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t5391/pseuds/t5391
Summary: "Let me take you home."There aren't any connentations to it, but Buck hears them anyways, and he knows his face has visibly flushed. Bobby remains relaxed, although Buck swears the corner of his mouth has turned up ever so slightly. "Sure," Buck croaks before he can think about it, and he pivots on his heel to find his bags.Things happen quickly.





	fast burn

The crook of his neck smells like smoke. 

_Astute observation, Buck_. Sometimes, he astounds himself with his own simplicity. Still, curled up in his captain's arms with his face pressed to his throat, Buck still thinks to himself, amazed, _Bobby smells like smoke._

This isn't a situation Buck's planned on being in. Not that he plans much of anything, but one would assume he might try for...whatever this is. The station is empty, the windows in the kitchen are slightly cracked to let in the breeze, and Buck is sitting in Bobby Nash's lap, arms thrown over his shoulders and legs bracketing his thighs. They're not speaking, or moving, but they're sitting here, and Buck's breathing in his cologne and his sweat and his smoke. 

Bobby's hands have been still on his back, but now one moves slowly up and down his spine. It's gentle, as if he's not aware he's doing it, and Buck fights the urge to lean back into the touch. The stress and the fear of Buck's everyday life has led up to this; Bobby has noticed his limping gait, his twisted face, his hesitance in the field. So, at the end of this double shift, when everyone's finished their duties and gone home, Bobby had sprawled out on the couch in the commons and extended his arms. 

Maybe he hadn't meant it. Maybe it'd been an involuntary reflex, a simple hand movement he'd learned on instinct. Equally on instinct, however, Buck had melted into him; his knees had buckled and he'd almost fallen, arms winding around Bobby and head ducking into his shoulder, as if to disguise the fact that he's there at all. Bobby hadn't made a sound, only wrapped Buck closer to his chest and let himself be whatever catalyst he needs. 

A radio downstairs crackles with activity, but neither man makes a move to locate it. However, Bobby does pull back an inch, just to look at Buck's face, and the tranquility he'd been feeling snuffs out in an instant. 

"I'm sorry..." Buck squirms, trying nervously to nudge out of Bobby's hold. "Bobby, I didn't mean—"

Bobby's arms tighten around Buck, and he stops moving immediately. He stops breathing, really. "It's okay, Buck." Bobby's measured tone seems to hold Buck's heart in it's hoarse tones. He's shaking, he realizes. Buck forces himself to meet Bobby's eyes as he asks, "Are you? You wanna tell me what's going on?" 

"No! No." Buck sucks in a weak breath, discovering his fingers are gripping Bobby's shirt until they've turned white. He struggles for words for a few seconds, in which Bobby waits with godlike patience, until he mumbles, "I want to do...this. Let's just keep doing this. Please."

He knows he must be making a total jackass of himself, but Bobby doesn't seem to acknowledge it. He just braces the back of Buck's head with his gentle hand and nestles him back against his neck.

"Okay." Buck can hear Bobby's heart beating, steady and sure, unlike his own. "We can talk later."

Buck grunts, and that ends the conversation there. But Bobby's hands go back to running lines across his back, and he fades into the fuzzy warmth of not needing to worry. Just a moment. 

When that moment passes and footsteps sound underneath them, Buck expertly sidles free and stands up straight, like nothing is amiss. "I should probably get going."

Bobby rises with him, expression as cool as ever when his palm rests on Buck's shoulder. He's so much _taller_ than him. Buck swallows audibly. "Let me take you home."

There aren't any connentations to it, but Buck hears them anyways, and he knows his face has visibly flushed. Bobby remains relaxed, although Buck swears the corner of his mouth has turned up ever so slightly. "Sure," Buck croaks before he can think about it, and he pivots on his heel to find his bags. 

***

Things happen quickly. 

_This is embarrassing,_ Buck thinks.

The feeling of Bobby's cock against him is, well...it's nerve-wracking. Buck may not plan ahead, but he sure as hell doesn't usually land himself into situations like this. Bobby's holding his waist in place above his lap and with nowhere to hide and no way to play it off, Buck is _nervous._ All the teasing, snarky foreplay he can spit out at will has abandoned him, and his fingers clamp against Bobby's shoulders.

Bobby can't be gracious enough to let it slide. He grips Buck's chin, still managing to hold him steady (he can support his entire body in one hand, Buck manically notices) as he tilts his head to the side. "What?" he asks, voice low and so unlike his usual kind dialect. He lets Buck sink a few centimeters to come back into contact with the head of his dick, and Buck lets out an uncharacteristic whine as he twitches helplessly. "Did you want something?"

Gasping, Buck tries his best to avoid eye contact, but his captain doesn't let him. He swallows, trying not to dwell on the fact that Bobby is stronger, faster, in more control than he could ever hope to be. He's powerless. He's obsessed with it. 

"Bobby—" He's even at a loss for words. Buck bites his bottom lip and can't miss the look that flashes in Bobby's eyes. "I want…"

Slowly, the hand below Buck's chin drifts down to his throat, and Buck turns a different shade of red as Bobby's palm presses against him. His fingers clutch, no pressure, but come close enough to feel Buck's pulse racing. He shifts Buck again, earning another strangled cry. "I can't do anything unless you tell me what you want." Bobby gently pulls Buck forwards until their faces nearly touch, and he murmurs, "You have to ask me, Buck." 

The sheer patronization should have Buck snapping his teeth and pushing back, but Buck somehow clenches Bobby's arms even tighter and pants against his cheek. Bobby tightens his own fingers against Buck's neck, just enough to clip at his breath, and Buck whispers, "I don't know, Bobby, _fuck,_ I don't know! You have to...to help me here, man, I don't—"

Suddenly, Buck can't breathe. He struggles for air, but Bobby's hand firmly grips his throat, and he gags against his touch as Bobby slowly pushes him down his cock. It's too much, it feels like every switch in Buck's body is being turned on, and past the choking breaths he fights desperately to take, tears start soaking Buck's face. 

Bobby doesn't even blink. As he nudges Buck ever so slowly down his length, he loosens his fingers just enough to suck a kiss from Buck's mouth. He's drooling and moaning, but he meets Bobby in the middle, letting him make an even bigger mess of his face. His lips are bruised, his cheeks streaked with salt, and Bobby seems to relish the devastated choke Buck emits when he stops him halfway down. 

" _Bobby_ …" Past the point of shame, Buck rolls his hips as best he can in his compromising position and presses his throat deeper into Bobby's palm. Bobby only raises an eyebrow, and Buck does everything in his power to keep from full-on crying. "Bobby, please. Fuck me. I just want you to fuck me, is that what you wanted to hear?"

Bobby blinks. "Yes." He practically shoves Buck the rest of the way down, until their thighs are flush with one another, and Buck groans like he's been punched. His eyes slam shut as he rocks against Bobby, but the hand at his throat tightens immediately. "Look at me."

Buck does. Bobby looks as calm as ever, as on top of things as he always is, and proves it by easily flipping them over and pinning Buck to his mattress. In the back of his head, Buck dimly worries about how Bobby sees his shabby apartment and low-rise bed in comparison to whatever he's used to, but it tapers away when Bobby takes him up on his word and starts fucking him into the sheets. It's nothing like Buck has imagined—and yes, he's imagined this on many different occasions in many different scenarios. It's nothing like he's ever _had_ ; nobody's made Buck feel as desperate and as ravaged as he does right now, and he never wants it to stop. Being held down and used is new, and good, and from Bobby, it makes everything make sense. 

Buck arches his back weakly, letting his head fall to the side as Bobby holds his arms down. He can't move at all, except to lift his legs to wind around Bobby's waist, and with every rough shove inside of him he can't help but sob. "Bobby," he whispers shakily, and Bobby outlines the edges of his exposed port-wine stain with kisses, a contrast to the pace he's setting. "Bobby, fuck… _fuck._ It's too much...I can't, fuck, it's—"

"I know." The smirk plastered on Bobby's face would be annoying, if he wasn't lifting one of the hands pinning Buck down to his aching cock. Buck cries out, pulling Bobby closer to him as the unmeasured flicks of his wrist shoot sparks behind Buck's eyelids. He's stopped processing anything besides Bobby's touch and Bobby's dick and Bobby's mouth on his skin. 

When Bobby tilts his hips and finds a spot Buck hadn't previously known existed, just as he runs his thumb over the head of Buck's cock and speaks softly into his ear, "I wonder if anyone else knows what a whore you are, Buck," it's all he can handle. 

Buck winds his fingers through Bobby's hair as he comes, noises leaving his lips he'll deny until he's breathless later on. His vision goes white as he sweats against the sheets, body trembling, and just as he starts to blink back into reality, Bobby holds both his wrists down as he pulls out and comes on his chest. His eyes are dark, and Buck tries to hide his face as warmth rolls over him. He's overwhelmed. 

When he's calmed down enough to peek through his fingers, Bobby's just _watching_ him. He's leaning back on his heels, those damn hands caressing Buck's legs as he tries to find something in his face. He must find it, because he falls next to Buck and immediately pulls him against his chest. Buck curls into him, mumbling, "This is so gross, Bobby." 

Bobby laughs quietly, running his fingers through the short, sweaty fuzz covering Buck's scalp. After a few moments of breath-catching and blatant denial of the mess between them, Bobby kisses the top of Buck's head and hums, "We still need to talk."

Sighing, Buck just shuts his eyes and tangles his ankles with Bobby's. "About the choking thing? Yeah, absolutely. I had no idea you were a sexual deviant, man. Should have told me sooner."

Bobby throws Buck's thin sheet over them, effectively covering Buck's face and muffling his banter. Buck laughs back and lets himself drift into a hazy, semi-conscious bubble of nothing but him and Bobby. Another moment of not having to worry. 

"Your house is a mess. We'll have to talk about that, too."

Buck grunts, and that ends the conversation there.

**Author's Note:**

> i like comments!


End file.
